


Towards The Heart

by comfy3666



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, M/M, Self Harm, Sexual Tension, Suicidal Ideation, Vampire AU, Very graphic, graphic description of self harm, komaeda being taken care of, please don't read if it triggers you, tags to be updated as i post more chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 18:55:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21343081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comfy3666/pseuds/comfy3666
Summary: Komaeda Nagito's employers were vampires.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Kamukura Izuru, Hinata Hajime/Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito, Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito, Past Hinata Hajime/Kamukura Izuru/Nanami Chiaki
Comments: 30
Kudos: 237





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> gonna start this off with a big self harm trigger warning! there's like. a full page talking about komaeda's self harm habits. please don't read if that triggers you. 
> 
> i've been working on this entire project for months now, but it's kinda just stagnating in my google docs and i figure i might as well post what i've got. i wanted to finish the entire thing before i published any of it, but whatever. i've got 6 chapters at the moment, in varying states of completion. it's very hard to write danganronpa characters because they're all so complex and traumatized, but i did my best. if you have any critiques or feedback i'd be super happy if you left a comment! if you want to see my slowly growing merch collection (i'm so broke from wasting all my money on it) my twitter is @ meowshinui! thanks

Komaeda Nagito's employers were vampires. 

It really hadn't taken him too long to figure out, all things considered. He'd been working at the Kamukura estate for about a week when he had finally accepted the unlikely truth. Hinata Hajime and Kamukura Izuru were nocturnal, for crying out loud. They never ate. When he'd shaken their hands at the interview for cleaning at this- well, mansion was really the only suitable word, it boasted four storeys and labyrinthine layout- they were cool to the touch, despite the heating being on rather high, even for the cold weather. The most telling clue had been the dark sheet stains that couldn't quite be hidden by the sheets being black. Unless they were extremely eccentric or their sex involved a lot of sharps, there was only one other option, as unbelievable as it sounded. They were drinking the blood. They were vampires.

This didn't bother Komaeda in the least. With his luck, something had to be up with this job. It was too perfect. Hired by two beautiful men to clean a luxurious house with a beautiful garden (that seemingly took care of itself) on the outskirts of the city, with room and board included in his work benefits? And no other employees? It was too good to be true. He was waiting patiently for them to try and drink his blood. It had to be a setup. 

It makes sense for them to try, Komaeda thought, methodically wiping one of the dining hall mirrors clean. I've been here for three weeks now. I'm a food source in the convenience of their own home. He tilted his head, checking the mirror for dust or streaks. Clean. Maybe they just didn't want to drink from him. He probably wouldn't taste good anyway. 

But it just didn't make sense. He'd seen the lingering looks Kamukura had given him. He'd seen Hinata blush and become defensive when he'd asked if he needed anything. They had to be seeing something they liked, though he wasn't sure what it was if it wasn't a meal. 

It wasn't like he hadn't provided plenty of blood scent. Vampires were supposed to have a strong sense of smell, right? He was constantly covered in scabs and bruises from his… habit.

He moved onto the next mirror, absentmindedly wiping a dusty cloth over the frame- it came away holding dust bunnies, this house had really been neglected- and Hinata came in, looking ruffled as usual, a sleep crease marring his cheek. 

"Komaeda. Hi," he cleared his throat, looking tense. "I'm just letting you know that a month from today, we're having a dinner party. Several guests will be staying over." 

Komaeda turned with a bright smile. "Hinata-sama. Would you like me to prepare rooms for them?" 

"We're still finalising the guest list, but right now it looks like it'll be eleven. I'll keep you updated on any further developments," Hinata shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, clearly uncomfortable being around Komaeda. Why would he be comfortable? Komaeda had often been told his smile was creepy, but it felt rude to keep his face blank. "Just thought I'd let you know." 

"Of course! Thank you so much. I don't have any plans over the next week, so if anything develops, just let me know." He wondered if he should dim the smile a little. It had to be making Hinata uncomfortable, with how he was shuffling his weight from side to side.

"Okay. Uh. See you later." 

Komaeda gave a little wave and returned to work, spraying Windex on the latest mirror, letting Hinata retreat. His reflection didn't show in any of the mirrors, which was a shame. An unfortunate side effect of vampirism. Komaeda would've liked to admire him without him knowing. He always seemed so comfortable around Izuru. Komaeda had even had a chance to see him laughing; genuine, carefree happiness lighting his face up like the sun. Komaeda wondered if somehow he'd offended him before even coming here. Ah well, he chewed his lower lip, brow creased in thought. It wasn't anything he should be worrying about. His job was just to clean. He'd add the dinner party to his schedule later today. 

~

Komaeda was weird, Hinata thought, walking back to his room with Izuru, ready to fall back asleep. He was always so unnaturally relaxed and happy. To be honest, it creeped Hinata out a little. He couldn't gauge if Komaeda was onto them or not, because he always held onto that sunny demeanor. Something about his presence irritated Hinata, and it had nothing to do with his soft looking hair, or the vulnerable curve of his pale neck, or the way he always smelled of antiseptics and herbs and sunshine and blood, or how his heartbeat quickened around them. He shouldn't be having such thoughts about his employee. Even if he knew Izuru entertained such thoughts as well. It wasn't like either of them could indulge in such activities with such a fragile human. Not anymore. There had been no one else in their lives after what had happened to Chiaki. Most of their blood came from fraudulent blood banks. It felt like his thoughts were running off on tangents without his permission around Komaeda, derailing onto trains better left alone. Maybe that was the source of the irritation, Hinata reflected. That he couldn't do anything about it. That his thoughts kept racing around without his permission. Ever since Enoshima had fused his soul with Izuru's, after they had bled into each other like watercolours not yet dry on paper, Hinata had enjoyed a calm sense of self control that he'd certainly been lacking when he was alive. 

Back in their bedroom, blinds drawn, Hinata shucked his jeans, leaving them to crease on the floor as he crawled back under the blankets with Izuru. 

His beautiful black hair was held in a braid, his eyelids fluttering at the movement on the bed. Flashes of his almost glowing brown eyes spilled from beneath long lashes. If those eyes were beheld in the sunlight, their depths would be almost red with colour. Hinata wasn't sure if it was a side effect of the vampirism or if his lover had simply been born with such beautiful eyes. Maybe he'd ask later.

For now, he tucked Izuru's head under his chin, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. Izuru's arms crept around him, sneaking under his shirt to rest against his skin. 

"I'm back," he whispered.

Izuru snuggled against him. Despite his regal, cold manner, he was very affectionate. In peculiar ways, but affectionate nonetheless. "How is our cleaner doing?" His voice was a murmur, heavy with sleep.

"Working on the dining room. He seemed to have no concern about the dinner party." 

Izuru let out a vague sound which could have been some form of commentary. 

Hinata closed his eyes and regulated his breathing. It was a pain in the neck learning to sleep when you're dead, but it was the time the blood running through their veins repaired their dying bodies. It was just as necessary as human sleep. Even if it was cold and dark and empty, it wasn't something they could forsake. 

He held his other half in his arms and fell into a dreamless sleep, both bodies cool with death. 

~

The dining hall was spotless. Komaeda had swept, mopped, and spent the better part of two hours polishing the floor, the hardwood now gleaming softly under the sunset. The expanse of mirrors and pewter candle holders were shining and free of dust, cobwebs gone. 

Komaeda was leaning against the wall, surveying his day's work with bleary eyes, a pile of dusty rags and various bottles of cleaning fluids by his feet. 

"You did a really good job on the dining hall," Hinata's voice floats over from the kitchen entrance. 

Komaeda doesn't turn. He must look like a wreck, covered in dust and smelling like cleaning spray and polish. "Thank you, Hinata-sama!" Komaeda beams, aiming his smile at the wall opposite him. Even though Hinata is in the other room, he still can't turn off the façade. "Cleaning is my only talent, so it's nice to be congratulated, even if I don't deserve it!" 

A pregnant silence from the kitchen. Komaeda wonders if he's somehow upset Hinata again. He gathers up the rags and bottles in his arms. He has to go through the kitchen to get to the laundry, and he shouldn't be worried about Hinata seeing him, especially when this mess he was covered in was hardly a big change to his normal sad, scruffy state of being. 

One of the more recent cuts beneath Komaeda's jeans had torn open earlier from exertion. He could feel dampness against his thigh, and if he pressed his finger to his (thankfully black) jeans, it would come away red. He knew it had been too soon to take the wound dressings off, but bandages always slipped down his thigh during the day and it was an inconvenience to have to duck to the toilet every two seconds to pull his bandages up. It was much easier to forgo them and pray the scabs didn’t split during the day. 

Luck was certainly not by his side at the moment. 

Hinata gave him a strange look as Komaeda shuffled into the kitchen, clutching his pile of cleaning implements to his chest. 

“Is everything okay?” Hinata asks, a frown creasing his forehead. 

“Why wouldn’t it be, Hinata-sama?” Komaeda pastes what he hopes is an innocent, thoughtful expression on his face. 

“Please,” Hinata groans. “You don’t have to call me that, it’s not like we’re feudal lords. You’re basically a housemate.”

Komaeda didn’t have to fake a look of shock and horror- it twisted his features aghast without his permission. “That wouldn't be proper!" He protests, almost dropping his armload onto the floor. "I'm your employee-"

Hinata silenced him with a wave of dismissal. “Seriously. Don’t worry about it.” His eyes flickered clearly remembering the original topic. He hesitated. Komaeda waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts. 

“If you ever…” Hinata seemed to be having trouble gathering the right words. “If you ever need anything, you can let Izuru or I know, okay?”

“It’s very kind of you to offer!” Komaeda laughed. He doesn’t say anything about accepting the offer.

HInata shrugs. “The offer’s there,” he said, before wandering off with his cup of tea.

Komaeda watched him leave, eyes narrowed in thought. Why had Hinata refused the temptation of fresh blood? Did he really find him that repulsive? 

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. You think too highly of yourself. What Hinata does is his own business. There’s no reason either of them would want me, for blood or anything else. He pushed down a pang of hurt rising in his chest. He had no right to feel such things, to expect anything. 

Komaeda headed to the laundry, dumping his load of washing in the machine. As he poured washing powder in, his mind kept circling around Hinata and Kamukura’s constant ignorance of what had to be an obvious invitation. There had to be only one answer. They truly didn’t realise he’d figured out their secret, even though how poorly they’d been keeping it had bordered on comical. Perhaps they hadn’t spent much time among humans. 

He hit the start button on the wash and returned to his room, locking the door. He didn’t feel unsafe in this house, but old habits die hard. Even though Hinata and Kamukura were vampires, they weren't that kind of monster. 

He peeled his jeans off slowly, grimacing when other, smaller, scabs peeled off with the denim. They must have broken and reformed during the day. He discarded the bloody pants in his laundry basket and sat down on the carpet next to his bed, moving gingerly. His thighs were masses of cuts. Old slashes, faded to white, ran across his skin, from the tops of his thighs to ten centimeters above the knee, where most shorts would stop on him. Some of them were so deep it still surprised him he hadn’t needed stitches to staunch the bleeding. One memorable cut had been jaggedly stitched together in a panic, with tooth floss and a sewing kit. It was all he’d had on hand. He hadn’t been planning to kill himself. The next day, he’d downed a line of shots to dull the pain and redone it with fishing line. That had been a bitch to walk with. It had taken months to heal into a shiny pink scar, and now it lay, faded and white, bisected over and over by more scars.

Most of the cuts were faded so much that you’d need to squint, or run your fingers along his skin, to know that they were there. A fair few of them were freshly scarred, slashes of pink against his sickly pale skin. But the fresh cuts stood out the most, lying on top of the multitudes of scars he carried. Red and yellow scabs ran in lines, haloed by pink swelling, some of the worst had faint bruising around the edges of the torn skin. 

Komaeda gently ran his fingers over the scabs, fingertips coming away lightly bloodied. This was one of the few tendernesses he allowed himself. 

He pulled his box of medical supplies from under the bed. It was very well stocked- internet shopping was truly an amazing thing. Sterilised medical suturing thread and needles, boxes of box cutters so he didn’t have to reuse them, rolls of bandages, enough antiseptics to disinfect months of self harm activity, gauze, and a little box of bandage clips. Next to the box was another containing a few neatly rolled black towels and a sheet of plastic to protect the carpet. He was almost proud of how well he thought ahead, of his collection of first aid that would’ve looked more suited to the back of a heavy vehicle with an “Emergency Use” sticker slapped on. It was a sick thing to be proud of, he supposed, but he wasn’t proud of much. He could afford the little flush of satisfaction having a well stocked first aid kit provided him. 

First he sterilised the cuts, face deep in thought as he gently cleaned the wounds with alcohol wipes. Next came the antiseptic cream, to help dissolve the scabs and reduce scarring. Gauze to protect the wounds. Bandages to hold the gauze in place and apply pressure to the wounds. He carefully wound them around his legs, in the direction blood flowed back towards the heart. Komaeda couldn’t remember where he’d read that, or if applying bandages that way held any benefit at all, but it couldn’t hurt. It was nice to distract himself with the routine, caring for the pain, even though he was to blame for it. Clean. Topical ointment. Gauze. Bandages. Towards the heart. 

When he was done, his shoulders felt lighter. This was one way he could care for himself, even if he didn’t deserve it, even if sometimes he wanted to spend a day touching public benches and then rub his hands all over his open wounds, waiting for an infection to come along and kill him. He had to be reasonable. An infection would be slow, painful, and, if he was forced into hospital, would leave whichever poor distant relative was technically his next of kin with a pile of medical debt passed along to them. 

Cuts safely treated, he sat by the window in his shirt and boxers, watching the setting sun bleed fire into the sky.

~

The two vampires of the house lay upon dark sheets, Hajime in boxers, Kamukura in a fluffy black jumper and a pair of floral sweatpants. He hadn’t had much choice allowed back when he was alive, so he made sure to exercise his right to ridiculous clothing when it came to pyjamas. Even though it often provoked Hajime’s mirth. (The debacle of the skeleton onesie had lasted almost a week, with Kamukura holding onto it out of sheer stubbornness even though Hajime insisted it was hilarious, that the onesie hadn’t been popular for almost a decade now, that a popular vocalist of the era had a brief gimmick with the same onesie…)

“Komaeda always smells like…” Hajime hesitated. Kamukura felt a rush of affection. His lover was always so cute, even under pressure. Especially under pressure, he could admit. “Blood. Old and fresh. I thought when he first arrived, he was recovering from an injury or something, but…”

Kamukura finished his sentence. “The blood scent is fresh again every few days.”

“Exactly.” Hajime bit his lip, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. It was considered distasteful among most vampires to talk so candidly about the (mostly unpleasant, to be blunt) things they could smell on other people. Kamukura had no use for such niceties. “Do you think he’s just really...really… clumsy? Or unlucky?” 

Kamukura could’ve rolled his eyes, almost. Hajime was clearly putting the pieces together, between Komaeda’s constant bleeding and the way he always belittled himself. 

He almost wondered how long it would take for Hajime to acknowledge that Komaeda was deliberately hurting himself. The practice was seen as wasteful amongst their kind, almost an insult to the blood that was giving them a second chance at life. Kamukura was aware that humans viewed self harm under a very different lens, even if his instincts revolted at the thought. Komaeda’s blood was his own- not stolen from anyone. He could do with it as he wished and the only insult would be to himself. It was of no interest to Kamukura, and all he had to do was push the brief flickers of rising concern away. There wasn't any reason he could use to justify interference. 

“The real question is how those at the dinner party will react,” Hajime hurried on, aware that his question sounded like he was running out of straws to grasp at. “Naegi-san is a relatively new vampire, and he might not be able to resist. Even I’m tempted, smelling it so frequently.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Kamukura reassured. “And we couldn’t possibly risk insulting the Kirigiri family again.” 

Hajime stuck his tongue out. “You don’t actually care about that. You’d enjoy some drama with Kirigiri-san. You’ve been dying to fight her again ever since that duel in Osaka.” 

Kamukura laughed lightly. “Maybe,” he acknowledged. “It would definitely be interesting to see what new tricks Kirigiri-san has up her sleeve.”

Hajime grinned knowingly. “Well, the rest of the party should be fine. I suppose the next question is how we keep our secret safe with so many vampires around. Komaeda’s pretty oblivious so far. It’s not like most people go straight for the conclusion ‘Oh dear, my acquaintance is a creature of the night.”

“He hasn’t exactly shown much regard for his well being.”

Hajime frowned at what Kamukura was inferring. “Why feign ignorance if he suspected anything? Death by vampire isn’t usually a pleasant death at all.”

Kamukura chewed on the inside of his mouth- an unfortunate habit he’d picked up from Hajime. “We might just have to wait to find out. If he comes to realise the truth before the dinner party, it won’t be a problem either way.”

Hajime sighed and let his head drop onto the pillow. “I guess not.” He tangled his legs with Kamukura’s. “Let’s not get up yet. I want to lay here a little while longer.”

Kamukura let a soft smile grace his lips, his eyes resting on Hajime’s tanned face and the few dark freckles on his shoulders. “That sounds nice.” 

Hajime had brought him the idea of peace. What Enoshima had done to them was terrible, unforgivable. But she’d brought him his own Hinata Hajime, she had taken their souls in her red-clawed hands, torn them asunder and then fused them back together, for better or for worse. And as much as he hated her for what pain she’d caused them, for the excruciating death she’d given Nanami, he could never quite regret that it had led him to Hajime. Hope could sometimes be born out of the worst despair.


	2. Chapter 2

Komaeda was discreetly watching his employers. Waiting for the action they would choose. Why were they hesitating? He had stripped their bed of its sheets (delicately avoiding touching stains both blood and… other things) and was tucking a flat sheet in, testing each corner to see if it was pulled tightly enough over the fitted sheet. 

Kamukura was sitting on the window seat, wearing a singlet that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the women’s section of the store, his hair mussed and falling around his shoulders, dark silk pants over his delicately crossed legs. Even reclining on a pile of pillows and his unbrushed hair, he looked unimpressed and almost regal. Attire aside, he looked as though he could’ve walked into any board room and bought out their company. It wasn’t an aura of wealth, though. It was a sense of absolute confidence in himself. That if he was interested enough to, he could do it in a heartbeat, no matter the challenge he faced. 

Komaeda shook the quilt cover over the blanket, giving it a few hard shakes. He was trying not to stare at Kamukura’s exposed shoulders, the length of his slender arms. There was no denying it. He was heartachingly beautiful. He kept his eyes averted while he smoothed out the quilt, folding the top of the flat sheet over it. 

“So it’ll be just you and Kirigiri-san?” Kamukura’s voice was disinterested, even as he fired queries at the person on the other end of the line.

Komaeda couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation. It was a shame. He was trying to figure out if there was an ulterior motive for the gathering. Not that he’d had any luck. Maybe he should just ask if the other attendees were human or not. Maybe there’d be other kinds of people there? He was interested to see what else was real, if vampires were real. Werewolves? Fae? Magicians? He fluffed a pillow, tugging each corner afterwards to ensure the pillowcase lay flat. 

“Of course, we have room for both you and Kirigiri to room separately, if you’d like.” He listened to the person on the other end for a minute while Komaeda arranged the freshly dressed pillows on the bed. He caught the tail end of what could’ve been a smile on Kamukura’s face. Or maybe he’d just twitched his lips. “That’s lovely to hear she finally asked you, Naegi-kun. There was a lot of…  _ discussion _ , among some of us.”

Komaeda’s ears perked up at that. Whoever Naegi was, he was familiar with Kamukura. That was worth noting. 

Komaeda didn’t really have anything left to do in Kamukura and Hinata’s bedroom, but he lingered, pretending to straighten out the bedsheets a little more. They were impeccable, of course. Komaeda wondered if he should deliberately crease it to buy himself a few more minutes, hoping for another tidbit. Perhaps that was too obvious. Komaeda withheld a sigh, and turned to wave at Kamukura, who was still listening to the other end of the conversation. 

Kamukura was looking directly at him, his gaze steady and unreadable. 

Heat pooled in Komaeda’s cheeks. Kamukura was looking at him intently, like he was trying to read Komaeda’s mind. Could vampires do that? No way. That wasn’t fair. He mentally shook himself. If either of them could do that he would’ve been eaten long ago, he chided himself. 

He waved his hand in silent farewell. 

_ Thank you, _ Kamukura mouthed, still holding the phone to his ear. 

He smiled back, hoping his shrug conveyed that it was no problem. He left and shut the door quietly behind him, feeling Kamukura’s eyes burn into him all the way until the door creaked closed. 

~

It was four in the afternoon when the doorbell rang. 

Komaeda was lucky enough to be in the vicinity of the front door when it rang, because as loud as the doorbell was, there was no way he would’ve heard it if he were on another floor. 

He hesitated at the front door. Should he fetch someone? He didn’t really know if he should let whoever it was in, or if it was someone totally lost and in need of help, or if he should just pretend like he never heard anything at all- 

Hinata’s hand reached past his side and pulled the door open for him. Komaeda let out an embarrassing  _ squeak.  _

The person at the door was a bored-looking deliveryman. Hinata grinned at Komaeda, his eyes laughing. Komaeda flushed. 

He awkwardly stood by as Hinata signed off for the delivery. It was a cardboard box around a third of his height, unmarked and taped shut. He hoisted it with apparent ease. Hinata appeared slight at first, but Komaeda could finally appreciate the muscles in his arms, moving as he carried the box.

“Do you need any help?” Komaeda offered, a little lamely. Hinata clearly had it in hand. 

“Nah, it’s okay.” Hinata brushed him off and started down the hallway, footsteps heavier under the added weight. He mightn’t have looked like it, but he could probably easily pick Komaeda up, frail as he was. The thought of Hinata picking him up made his face feel warm. “Could you close the front door?” Hinata called back. 

Komaeda snapped out of his reverie. “Of course!” He turned to close the door, and when Komaeda turned back, Hinata was gone. 

~

It had been a day since Hinata had mysteriously vanished mid-hallway. Komaeda couldn’t stop thinking about it. If Hinata had simply taken the box down the hallway, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But he’d vanished, as though he hadn’t wanted Komaeda to see where he was taking it.  _ Or maybe he’d noticed you staring at his ass and it made him uncomfortable, _ a snide voice in Komaeda’s mind said. 

He tried to push it out of his mind. It was the smallest contradiction, and it could have meant nothing. But something about it- aside from the question of how Hinata had _literally disappeared_ in the second he’d glanced away- still bothered him. He couldn’t put his finger on it. By the time he’d cleaned all the windows on the first floor (only the insides of the windows- it’d been pouring rain all day), it was still at the forefront of his mind, and it was almost three in the afternoon. If he was going to look for the mysterious package today, he only had a few hours at most before the vampires woke up from their slumber. He checked on his phone quickly- sunset was at 4.32 today. He had an hour and a half before darkness fell. 

He decides to start from the bottom up, searching through the first floor a little more thoroughly. It’s on the fifth room he searches that he finds something interesting.

It was a spare bedroom, bed unmade, sheets folded nicely in the dresser, duvet stored in the drawer beneath it. Komaeda knew this, he’d done an inventory of all the linen and cleaning supplies when he’d arrived. Still, there was no harm in giving the room a cursory look. Nothing under the bed, nothing in the drawers. 

It’s the closet that gave him pause. A crack in the wood, about two centimetres, at the bottom of the closet. It wasn’t too odd that a slightly broken closet would be stored in a spare room. What was odd was the crack itself- it wasn’t split following the grain of the wood. If the wood were to crack, it would have cracked vertically. If some immense pressure had cracked the wood in that manner, it would have only started horizontally before curving upwards. And when he examined it closer, he realised it wasn’t a crack at all. It was too neat. The bottom of the panel at the back had been hewn off roughly. 

He ran his hands along the separation- and his hands didn’t touch wall. He stuck his fingers out straight. The wall should have been right behind the closet. 

A bolt of excitement flashed through him. It had to be a secret entrance. He tried tugging the crack outwards. No dice. Upwards? 

The wood groaned as it lifted upwards, revealing a dark, empty, concrete corridor. There were no lights. The air drifting out was cold, even though the house’s heating was on. Komaeda turned his phone torch on. His hands were trembling. Finally, a clue into the mysteries that were Hinata Hajime and Kamukura Izuru. 

The other side of the entrance had a handle, so it could be closed while someone was in there. He tried to pull it down quietly, but the wood creaked so loudly he was afraid someone would somehow hear it, even though Hinata and Kamkura slept on the third floor. 

The hallway was only a few metres long, the air growing colder the further down he went. There was one left turning corner at the end, and it led to a closed door. The door gave him pause. It almost looked like the door of a liquor shop cold storage room, and when he touched the handle, it was cold. He had an inkling of what they might be hiding down here. He was burning with curiosity, the need to confirm his suspicions. Perhaps he should have felt guilty. He’d berate himself for not feeling bad later. He already knew he was worthless, did it really make him a worse person to be looking into something his employers clearly didn’t want him to see? It had been hidden away cleverly, but it wasn’t even locked. 

Holding his breath, he pulled the door open. It made a rubbery sound, like a fridge door opening. A gust of chilly air rushed out. It was a large refrigerated room, with rows and rows of empty shelves. And one shelf that was full of blood bags. He picked one up. Type B negative. Drawn less than three days ago. The next one was Type O. Drawn on the same date. 

There were 200 bags, organised in rows of five by ten. All different blood types. All drawn within the last four days. If they needed the same level of hydration as a human, they needed maybe eight bags a day. That was… he counted off his hands. Twenty five days. For two vampires, that was a little under two weeks’ supply. 

Well, that explained why they didn’t try and drink from him. They had a secret supply stashed on the first floor. Thrills rushed up and down his body. This was dangerous knowledge. Right now, they were ignorant as to his knowledge of their secret. If he left any concrete evidence, their probable course of action would be to kill him. A chill ran down his spine. He wasn’t afraid. He hugged himself, breath puffing out clouds in the cool room. He’d always been considering how he could kill himself. How could he commit the act without inconveniencing anyone else? And here came along the perfect opportunity. If Hinata or Kamukura realised he had been here…

How would they do it? Would it be quick, calculated- a snap of the neck, from behind, while he was unaware?

There weren’t any more clues here. He retreated, and carefully pulled the closet entrance back to where it had been- around a two centimetre gap. He surveyed the room. Nothing out of place from his casual search. There was no sign to show he’d been here except to clean. 

He was just about to leave the bedroom when he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Lighter than Hinata’s. Probably Kamukura. He froze, pondering his next movements. 

The footsteps were coming closer.

Komaeda dropped to the floor and wiggled under the bed. It was undignified and he’s pretty sure his jeans were slipping down his hips. But thankfully the bedspread kept the space below the bed hidden. 

The bedroom door opened. He could feel more than hear the footfalls on the soft carpet. The creak of the closet. It must have been morning for Kamukura and Hinata. He felt the sudden, bizarre urge to reveal himself, and maybe he could finally be useful to them.

He waited two heartbeats before crawling out from under the bed as slowly as possible. The not-distant-enough sound of the cold storage door opening. Komaeda slowly moved towards the slightly ajar bedroom door-

_ please don’t creak please don’t creak please don’t creak- _

and opened it silently. He slipped through, and quietly crept in a direction that took him away from Kamukura’s route back to his room.

Later that evening, Komaeda couldn’t keep still or calm. He couldn’t stop wondering why the cold storage was so far away. Wouldn’t it have been more convenient to keep closer to the bedroom? Or the kitchen? Or even in a mini fridge on the fourth floor? He folded another shirt from his laundry pile, and picked up another. 

He dropped the shirt as if it had burned him, his eyes round.

Approximately half an hour later, Komaeda was in old sweats and his shirt, humming to himself as he emptied every single kitchen cabinet onto the counter. He was certainly making quite the ruckus, but it was daytime for Hinata and Kamukura, so they shouldn’t mind too much. Anyway, if they didn’t come and see what the fuss was about, what would be the point? 

He sprayed out the inside of each cupboard- some of which were remarkably dusty- and hummed to himself, before he wiped them out with a fresh cloth. 

He was in the middle of returning the dishes and food to their proper cupboards, when Kamukura walked in, acknowledging Komaeda with a quick nod. He seemed distracted. Maybe he had noticed Komaeda’s presence earlier? He poured himself a water, seemingly not even noticing the mess lining the kitchen. He turned around, and finally looked at Komaeda. 

And promptly dropped his cup on the floor. Glass and water exploded on the floor, and Komaeda pretended to yelp, widening his eyes. He was only wearing slippers! He hadn’t thought anyone would drop anything just because of a silly little stunt like this. 

Hinata came rushing in.

“Stop-” Komaeda and Kamukura said at almost the same time. 

Hinata saw the glass and halted at the kitchen entrance. “What happened?” 

“I.” Kamukura has to stop to clear his throat. “I dropped a glass. I’ll clean it up.” His eyes flicker significantly to Komaeda’s shirt. 

Hinata’s face froze as his eyes landed on Komaeda’s shirt. His eyes slowly moved back up to Komaeda’s face.

The tension in the room was almost thick enough to touch. 

“Nice shirt,” he managed, his voice sounding strangled. 

Komaeda beamed. “Thank you, Hinata-sama! It’s nothing special, just an old pyjama shirt I’ve had for a few years now.” He isn’t technically lying. Sure, he’d bought it at a book signing for an exorbitant price, but he’d only ever worn it as a pyjama shirt. Until it had somehow ended up in the wash, he’d totally forgotten about it over the past year. 

The shirt in question was an old shirt that said  _ Bite Me _ , with a graphic of a neck with two clear puncture marks with blood dripping from them below it. He’d bought it during his embarrassing vampire romance novel phase, and it had absolutely nothing to do with Fukawa Toko’s collection of short supernatural romance stories. Absolutely nothing. And if he’d previously sworn to himself never to let anyone catch a glimpse of this shirt, the comical reactions it prompted from Hinata and Kamukura made breaking that oath worth it without question. 

And as Komaeda reached down to begin picking up glass, Hinata let out a cry.

“Are you picking that up with your bare hands?” His voice was incredulous.

Komaeda glanced up to throw a snarky comment, and promptly slipped and fell. He gracelessly caught himself, glass embedded into the palms of both his hands. He scrambled upright, babbling apologies that were abruptly cut off when he felt Hinata’s hands on his wrists. 

Komaeda met Hinata’s eyes. There was something dark in those green depths, something murky and hungry. Something that wasn’t Hinata at all. 

Komaeda could feel his pulse racing against Hinata’s hands, pressed into his wrists, his palms turned upright. Blood dripped slowly onto the floor. His hands were going to hurt like hell over the next few days, but for this moment- to be captured in Hinata’s cold stare- it was absolutely worth it. Aside from what he deserves, to be used, to be consumed and discarded, this is what he  _ wants.  _ To be close to someone, even if they’re using him. To be thrown away like the trash he is. Even though it was selfish, he would do anything to be  _ wanted, needed. _ In that moment, Hinata needed Komaeda just as much as Komaeda needed him. 

Suddenly, Kamukura was there, one of his hands on Hinata’s arm. He was speaking, but it was a language so old that Komaeda didn’t recognise it. He could only guess that it was an old or very regional form of Japanese, as it had similar stress patterns upon the words, and the sounds were familiar, just not in any order he could interpret. 

The hunger in Hinata’s eyes slowly folded in on itself, and his eyes blinked, for the first time in a moment that had felt like an eternity. 

Komaeda recognised that the moment had passed, and the act was back on. “Are you okay?” The concern in his voice was real, though. 

Hinata looked drained and shaken after whatever it was had faded from his eyes. But he still laughed, unsteady as it was. “You’re the one bleeding all over the floor,” he reminded Komaeda. 

Komaeda’s eyes went round. “Oh!” He carefully twisted his arms out of Hinata’s hands, which had slackened. And immediately tried to go back to picking up glass.

“No!” Hinata grabbed his wrists again, but released them as soon as Komaeda stopped moving, 

“I’ll be careful.” Komaeda said. “The sooner I clean up this glass, the sooner I can clean the blood.” He isn’t really sure what problem Hinata sees with that. 

Hinata sighed, dragging his fingers through his already messy hair. “No.” 

Kamukura gently picked up Komaeda’s left hand, looking at it with a clinical eye. There was none of the hunger he had seen in Hinata before. “I’ll need to soak this in hot water and antiseptic,” Kamukura said. If he wanted blood, not a single hint of it was betrayed by his voice. Komaeda almost felt affronted. He’d gone to all these lengths, dropped all these hints, and they still kept refusing. Why? 

“I’ll need to pick the rest out with tweezers,” Kamukura continued. He glanced at Hinata, who left the room.

_ Maybe mind reading is improbable, but those two have to be able to communicate telepathically _ , Komaeda hypothesised.

Hinata returned a minute later with a chair. Kamukura dropped Komaeda’s hand to gently push him into the seat when he just remained standing in front of the chair like an idiot, and ran the tap on hot, carefully sidestepping glass. He passed Hinata the dustpan and brush from under the sink. The scent of Dettol filled the air.

While Hinata carefully swept up the glass, Kamukura returned with a bowl of Dettol and hot water, which he placed Komaeda’s hands in. 

Komaeda stared at the two of them. His brain felt as though it had abandoned his body, leaving him floating and confused. This hadn’t been the plan. They were… taking care of him. His brain almost short circuited. Why were they taking care of him? They had no reason to. He’d all but told them he knew they were vampires, at this point, but neither of them acknowledged it. 

By the time the water had cooled considerably, Hinata was drying the clean, glass free, freshly mopped floor with a towel, and Kamukura picked up his hands again. 

“This will hurt,” Kamukura said.

Komaeda smiled faintly. “That’s okay.”

Hinata snorted. “Your bedside manner is terrible.”

It did hurt, as Kamukura carefully removed the shards of glass which hadn’t fallen out into the water with a pair of tweezers, his eyes sharp and focused. Komaeda mostly kept his face still, occasionally flinching.

Kamukura then rubbed antiseptic solution on the cuts, covered them with gauze and bandaged it down. Komaeda was left with two heavily bandaged hands. He tried curling his hands into a fist. Close, but no cigar. 

“But I was about to Gumption the sink,” Komaeda whispered.

Kamukura actually rolled his eyes. “You’re welcome.” 

Komaeda looked up, self loathing spilling through his guts. “No! Thank you so much, you have so many strange talents-”

Kamukura cuts him off by placing a soft kiss atop one of his bandaged hands. Komaeda stopped breathing for a few seconds.

“Don’t stress yourself. Take the next few days off-”

Komaeda recoiled. “But-”

“Take the next few days off.” Kamukura repeated. His tone made it clear that it wasn’t a request. “You’re injured. You’ll get sick leave until your hands are healed.”

The self loathing boiling in Komaeda’s gut burst into life. He didn’t deserve such kindness. He didn’t deserve to have Kamukura’s competent help. He’d done this to himself. He could work through it.

“And I better not catch you cleaning.” Kamukura’s eyes narrowed. 

Komaeda took a deep breath. “Okay. I can do that.” He could avoid Kamukura’s detection  _ and  _ Gumption the sink.

Kamukura stood up. “You should go to sleep soon.”

“Goodnight! Sleep well,” Hinata said, leaving with Kamukura. 

“Goodnight,” Komaeda echoed faintly. He sat there for the next few minutes, confused and upset as if Kamukura and Hinata had slapped him rather than helped him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't worked on this since i last posted ): i am Lazy. anyway if you have anything to say pls leave a comment below! the next ch is already finished so i'll post it in abt a week. love and light x


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, a friend read this over and said to me, "jack. this entire chapter is komaeda abusing alcohol. i haven't played dr i don't know if that's ooc but-" i cut her off to hang my head in shame. and i didnt edit anything (: this entire thing is very, very self indulgent

It started with a few drinks. Just a few to take the edge off the rising sadness that had been swelling over the last few days, since he’d sliced his hands open on the kitchen floor. The scabs were healing nicely now that Kamukura had finally allowed him to take the bandages off, but even that couldn’t make a dent in the episode he could feel coming on. 

Just enough to ease the weight pressing down on his heart like a lead weight has been tied to it. In anyone else it would just be a few off days and it would end there, a simple downer due to the rainy weather. Komaeda knew better. This mood was like the way the tide draws back into the sea before a tsunami crashes over the coast. He’s learned to recognise the signs, and if he just has a few drinks to take the edge off before sleep, it might turn out okay. He might be able to pass out and sleep away the mood before it crashes over him and drowns him. 

By his fifth screwdriver, however, Komaeda knew it wouldn't be a night where sleep came to him easily. His mind was slowing down, his hands were trembling, his limbs felt disconnected from his body. His heart remained heavy under his ribs, and no amount of vodka could touch it right then. It was midday, and he knew Hinata and Kamukura had to be asleep at this moment. So he could safely get wasted without disturbing anyone. 

It wouldn’t stop. The bruised feeling in his heart was like a physical pain in his chest. He must have looked pathetically lonely, sitting at the too big dining table- at maximum capacity, it would seat twenty- all by himself, a bottle of orange juice and a bottle of vodka his only companions in the lonely room, if you didn’t count his reflection- bounced off every available mirror in the place, is if mocking him for drinking alone. At midday.

Komaeda drained his glass again and poured in two more shots, topped it up with orange juice. His job, danger his employers supposedly presented aside, had some benefits. Like paying enough for him to buy the nice orange juice. It wasn’t watered down. No artificial flavours or preservatives. Even cheap vodka went down smoothly enough with nice orange juice. 

_You’ll never be able to show anyone your di_s_gusting scars. They’ll be there forever. Anyone who looks at them will know what you did to yourself. You’re going to die alone, untouched._ _Unloved. Unwanted. Your scars will still be there, though. There’s no erasing what you’ve done. You’ve mutilated yourself. You’re hideous. Nobody could feel anything but disgust looking at you. _

Komaeda stood up, legs wobbling slightly, and took a gulp of his drink. The weight in his heart hadn’t diminished, even with the copious amounts of alcohol he was pouring down his throat. Some distant part of him realised he had to pee again. Alcohol was a diuretic, after all! Stupid Komaeda. He set his drink down carefully and stumbled across the hall to the bathrooms. He didn’t know if the undead needed to use the facilities, but they were thankfully close to the hall. Maybe they did. Komaeda suppressed a giggle at the thought. 

After he’d relieved himself, he stared himself down while washing his hands. If he could trust his reflection, he looked a complete mess. To be honest, he hadn’t even eaten breakfast when he’d woken up several hours ago, electing to head straight to his stash of alcohol, tucked away in one of his designated cupboards. He didn’t really need to take up a whole cupboard. He refused to eat much, and he tried to only have one bottle of spirits at a time, in a half-hearted attempt to curb his drinking before it became really bad. Now he was in boxers, cuts red and angry and very visible, scars purple and white and pink and everywhere. His shoulders, his arms, his thighs, even his hips had borne the cost of his vicious hatred. He was hideous. His white hair was unwashed and knotted and stuck out at every possible angle. His skin was pale and sickly, except for the red flush that stained his cheeks from drinking. His green eyes were glassy and bloodshot from tiredness. His limbs were spindly and thin, looking as though he could be snapped like a twig by whomever eventually would decide he’d outstayed his welcome in this life. Which might not have been too far from the truth, if his employers really had super strength. Komaeda had yet to see either of them lift anything impossibly heavy, so the jury was still out on that one. He giggled out loud this time, high and shrill. They were so  _ pretty,  _ Kamukura with his dark hair and dark eyes, Hinata with his tanned skin and the kind eyes that sometimes peeked out from behind his serious face. He wished he could become close to them. He let himself fantasise for a moment. 

“Izuru-kun,” he tried out, tasting the way the syllables of his name rolled off his tongue. “Hajime-kun.” It sounded nice. Komaeda decided that he liked their names very much. It was embarrassing, but he could feel the flush spread from his cheeks to his whole face and neck. 

He dried his hands and let the door slam behind him. Nobody was awake to hear it. He returned to his drink and contemplated. If drinking didn’t ease the pain, his only hope was to get so hammered he passed out. 

~

It was three in the afternoon when Hinata woke to the sound of crashing. At first, his half asleep brain tried to ignore it. But then came the laughter. Hysterical, scratchy, almost painful sounding laughter. He rolled over and gently shook Izuru awake. 

“Do you think we should check on Komaeda?” Hinata whispered. He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if he would hear them.

Nevertheless, Izuru whispered back. “It might be a good idea. I’m somewhat curious as to what he’s up to.”

For Izuru, “somewhat curious” was a big deal. He’d seen enough of life that the vast majority of it bored him almost to tears. He must be really worried about Komaeda. Hinata had to suppress something soft curling in his belly. Not again. Nobody vulnerable would be too close to them again. It had been a harsh lesson. If you were too strong, you couldn’t protect the weak. Enough people would be targeting you that simply being in your orbit would make them a target. You couldn’t stop everyone who would target your weak point. 

Pushing those thoughts from his head, he went with Izuru to go and find Komaeda. They followed the sounds of that scratchy, almost painful laughter to the dining hall. It crawled down Hinata’s spine. It wasn’t a happy laugh. It was desperate and hollow and full of despair.

And they did indeed find him there.

Komaeda looked like a wreck. His hair probably hadn’t been brushed in days. He was wearing the same shirt he’d been wearing yesterday, suggesting he’d slept in it. He was wearing black and white checkered boxers and his feet were bare. He tried to avoid staring at Komaeda’s cuts. It was rude to stare. Even if the sight of the vicious wounds made his stomach sensitive, and not in a hungry way. In a sick way. In a sad way. It was hard to avoid looking at the marks, scattered across Komaeda’s body as they were, red and angry. The faint smell of vomit lingered in the air. 

. 

The heating wasn’t on, and it was winter, so he had to be cold. Yet here he was, sprawled on the floor, a half empty bottle of vodka in his hand, an empty bottle of orange juice in the other, staring at the ceiling like it was the most riveting movie he’d ever seen. Hinata looked upwards to check, despite himself. It was the same old plaster ceiling it’d always been. He couldn’t fathom what Komaeda was seeing up there. 

Meanwhile, Izuru was kneeling by Komaeda’s side, speaking quietly to him. 

Komaeda’s response was an almost enthusiastic yell. “I was trying to circumvent my mood! It didn’t work, so I’m going back to my room to try and fall asleep!” He was somehow still articulate, despite Hinata’s suspicions that most of the bottle Komaeda clutched was now in his stomach. Or in the toilet. 

That had to be at least fifteen standard drinks if he’d started a fresh bottle, Hinata reckoned. He’d been well acquainted with vodka while he was alive. As frail as Komaeda looked, it was a wonder that amount hadn’t knocked him out yet.

He crouched on Komaeda’s other side.

“Hinata-kun is here too!” Komaeda beamed. “It’s always lovely to see both of you!” He reached out his hand, as if going to stroke Hinata’s face. Hinata caught his hand in his own. Komaeda would undoubtedly regret this when he woke up. 

“Nice to see you’ve finally dropped the honorific.”

“For Kamukura-kun, too!” Komaeda chriped. “I have a secret… I quite like your names!” Drunk as he was, that ever present smile still graced his face. Hinata clutched his hand tighter. It was almost sweet, how seriously he treated these formalities. Okay, scratch that. It was cute. 

Komaeda’s hand was burning hot. Izuru, sensing his concern, placed his hand upon his cheeks. 

“Just flushed from drinking,” Izuru confirmed. Nonetheless, a slight frown creased his brow. 

Hinata nodded. Directing his attention back towards Komaeda, he tried to soften his tone and expression. “Do you think you can walk?” 

“Of course I can walk! I know I’m useless, but even I can manage that!” Komaeda laughed, his voice scratchy, almost as though he’d been crying himself hoarse. Maybe he had. Hinata wasn’t sure how human faces changed when they cried- it had been too long since anyone had cried in front of him. He remembered tears, though. He remembered the slick feeling of tears running down his cheeks. There weren’t any tears in Komaeda’s eyes. 

He very quickly proved, however, that he could not walk. At least not without Izuru and Hinata supporting him, his arms slung over their shoulders and he babbled on about he was totally walking fine. The bottle of vodka was in Izuru’s waistband (the pyjama pants were yellow-striped and floral today and there was no way they’d come from the men’s section of any store) for the time being. 

When they reached his room, Komaeda flopped onto his bed like a ragdoll. His eyes were open and staring. If Hinata couldn’t hear his heartbeat thumping steadily, he would’ve been compelled to check his pulse. 

Izuru made to leave, but Komaeda’s hand flew out and caught Izuru’s own cold hand between his fingers. “Please,” Komaeda whispered. “Wait.”

Izuru looked down upon Komaeda’s hand, his eyes unreadable. But his words were not unkind. “Of course,” he said. “Would you like us to stay until you fall asleep?”

Komaeda nodded, his eyes squeezed shut, as if he could hide from the reality of what he was asking. Hinata felt a familiar pang in his chest. It stung, but he couldn’t identify it. Whatever it was, it kept him rooted to the floor, looking at Komaeda. 

“I’m tired of being alone,” Komaeda whispered, so quietly it would’ve been indecipherable to a human. “I’m tired of hurting.”

Hinata couldn’t stop himself. His feet carried him to Komaeda and Izuru’s side, and he sat next to them, the carpet soft underneath him. Every part of him ached to hold Komaeda, to offer him comfort. He settled for tentatively patting his hair- if Hinata touched his arms, he was afraid it would hurt Komaeda, and Izuru was currently holding his hands, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles onto the backs of his hands. 

“Is there anything else you need?” Izuru’s voice may have sounded flat, but Hinata knew him well enough to read the genuine concern underlying his tone. 

Komaeda sighed. “I can’t ask anything more of you both. You’ve already been more kind than I deserve.” 

He didn’t say no, Hinata noted.

Several minutes passed in silence before Komaeda spoke again. “It hurts so much.” He thumped his fist over his heart. “I’m tired of it. Nothing I do fixes it.” He rolls to face them, his eyes bleary and sad. He would never have let them see him like this if he were sober. “Thank you for staying with me.” 

Hinata couldn’t agree more. It was a familiar feeling. Nothing would ease it, except for being held tight in his other half’s arms. Sometimes Izuru came to him with the same need, and they would hold each other silently. They didn’t need words to know how much they loved each other, but physical touch was a form of communication and comfort that couldn’t be replaced by any bond. 

“Not a problem,” Hinata said softly. 

Komaeda closed his eyes, his breathing and heartbeat slowed. Izuru gently tugged the quilt out from underneath him, tucking it over him. Hinata couldn’t resist. He gently brushed his fingers over Komaeda’s arm. The scabs were rough against the tips of his fingers, but Komaeda sighed in his sleep and snuggled into the blanket. 

Hinata and Izuru remained by his side a few minutes more, to ensure he wouldn’t wake up and need anything else. In truth, it brought them both peace to see Komaeda asleep and looking- somehow- calm in a way that he hadn’t looked even once in the few weeks they’d known each him.

Listening to Komaeda’s soft breathing, it was hard to believe Hinata had ever been irritated in his presence. He could have fallen asleep right there on the carpet. 

Of course, it was also four in the afternoon, and any self respecting creature of the night would have been in bed right now. 

Neither of them wanted to leave. They didn’t have to admit it out loud. It was in how Izuru brought out a bucket in case Komaeda needed to throw up again. In how Hinata sat there while he did it, just watching Komaeda breathe softly. In case he woke up and needed help getting to the bathroom while Izuru was fetching the bucket, of course. 

Soon, there was no possible excuse for either of them staying there. There was a glass of water by his bedside, Komaeda was out like a light, breathing steady. A bucket and some towels lay next to his bed, even if he’d probably thrown everything up and then some.

Seeing him safe and warm and asleep ignited something in Izuru’s heart, Hinata could tell. They’d always shared a soft spot for protecting those who needed it. And even if the level of care Komaeda needed was way above anything they could offer, they could still be his friends, maybe. There was no harm in wanting to see him safe. 

Hinata gently tugged Izuru’s hand. They couldn’t stay with him all day.

Silently, the two left, the only sound of their leaving the quiet  _ snick  _ of the door handle. 

~

It was three in the morning when Komaeda staggered into the kitchen. His hair was wet from the shower and he was back to long sleeves and a pair of tracksuit pants, slung low around his hips. Kamukura was sat at the bar seats, sipping a cup of herbal tea. It had no nutritional value at all to his species, but it tasted nice and didn’t upset their system, unlike most human food. 

“Good morning, Kamukura-sama!” Komaeda’s cheerful tone was a little ragged this morning, undoubtedly from the acid that had burnt his throat yesterday. His eyes had heavy bags under them, but he looked more awake than he had in the past few days.

“Good morning, Komaeda,” Kamukura replied. “Are you feeling any better after last night?”

He gave a slight laugh. Nothing like the hysterics he’d had last night. “Thanks to you and Hinata-sama, I’m feeling much better!” He turned around to put the kettle on. “Would you like anything for breakfast?”

“It’s okay.” Kamukura watched Komaeda over the rim of his cup as he doddled around the kitchen, clearly trying to come up with his next words.

Eventually, he brought out a packet of unflavoured crackers from his cupboard and sat on the stool next to Kamukura. 

“I wanted to apologise,” Komaeda began, knotting his fingers together in his lap. 

“You don’t have anything to apologise for.” Kamukura sat his mug down.

Komaeda finally looked him in the eye, indignant. “Of course I do! It was hugely inconsiderate of me to do  _ that _ -” he waved his hands in the air. “To do something so impolite in our public living area. It was terrible of me, and then Kamukura-sama and Hinata-sama had to take care of me afterwards. I’m truly sorry.”

“Please, just Kamukura is fine.” He slid his gaze aside, afraid he might laugh. “You certainly had no problem calling us that last night.”

Kamukura hadn’t meant for it to sound so suggestive. Komaeda’s eyes widened to comical proportions. His jaw dropped. He could’ve been a goldfish, with his round eyes and his mouth open in a shocked ‘o’. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have teased you.” Kamukura tucked a strand of dark hair behind his ear. It immediately fell back to where it was lying against his cheek. “You didn’t do anything unseemly. And neither of us would take advantage of you while you were vulnerable.”

Komaeda managed to close his jaw. He looked as though he were about to faint. All the blood had drained from his face. He was flapping his hands, the scabs from his “accident” almost invisible. “I didn’t mean to imply that you’d take advantage of me!” 

Kamukura did laugh, then. Komaeda’s reaction was too ridiculous, he couldn’t help it. It was the first time he’d laughed in a while, and his jaw popped as he laughed. Which only made him laugh harder. 

Hajime wandered into the kitchen to see what the commotion was. He cracked a crooked smile at the sight- Kamukura was slumped on the counter, trying to muffle his laugh with his arms. Komaeda sat next to him, opening and closing his mouth like he was trying to find something to say. 

“Good morning, Izuru, Komaeda. What’s the joke?”

Kamukura raised his head. Laughing was a joy in of itself, with no other reason but to feel it bubble up his throat and spill into the air. He wiped tears from under his eyes. 

“Hinata-sa-” Komaeda stopped himself, stricken though he was. “Hinata-kun, he just started laughing, I didn’t even say anything-”

Hinata couldn’t keep the smile off his face. The previous night, strange as it was, had broken some invisible wall of tension between them. He could feel the amusement Izuru was feeling. It’d been a long time since the kitchen had been filled with laughter. It might’ve been dark outside, but it was warm enough that the room could’ve been streaming with sunlight. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things get a little horny here. this is the point of where i've posted everything i've finished writing ;_; so updates may be patchy as i'm currently moving and my house/finances are a mess. thank u guys for leaving comments or kudos or just clicking, bc everytime i see my stats go up my heart jumps!

The scene was beautiful. Large, fluffy snowflakes fell lazily through the air. From the window of the fourth floor, Komaeda could see the snow that blanketed the estate. He could only imagine how beautiful the house must look like from an outside perspective.

He could only imagine, of course, because this was the second day they’d been snowed in. 

The three occupants of the house had woken up yesterday to a freak snowstorm. It hadn’t been on the news as far as any of them knew- Kamukura found the news too tedious, and Hinata and Komaeda simply didn’t care to watch it. And now they couldn’t get a signal on the television or any internet. A few poles had probably been knocked down by post-storm car crashes. They were lucky they still had power at all- without the heating, they probably would have had to huddle like penguins in front of the oven, which would have been a  _ tragedy, _ having to be close to Hinata and Kamukura. Maybe they would have wrapped their arms around him. Maybe Komaeda would have buried his face into Hinata’s chest while Kamukura rested his chin on his shoulder. Maybe they would have fallen asleep- Komaeda shook himself out of those self indulgent thoughts, a sigh drifting from his lips. 

There was no way Komaeda could’ve shoveled a path to the road outside. He’d tried. He’d geared up in his warmest clothes, scarf and beanie, and had come to a screeching halt when he couldn’t even shove the front door open more than a few centimetres. He’d resolved himself to climbing out of one of the second storey windows and then clearing away the front door, but Hinata had seen him with one leg out of the window and promptly put a stop to it, insisting he’d get himself killed in the cold out there. 

Which maybe wasn’t that far from the truth, Komaeda could admit. Going out in the cold with his sickly constitution could be considered trying his luck.

Komaeda wandered down to the kitchen. They’d taken to taking turns making cups of tea and fiddling with the television antenna in the adjacent living room, hoping for news outside of their little snowed in world. 

It was oddly peaceful. Kamukura fiddling with the TV like he had any idea of what to do with it beyond occasionally hitting it and (presumably) cursing in some other language, Komaeda and Hinata taking turns making tea. They’d brought blankets from some of the spare rooms, and Komaeda had made use of his time to relax, warming his hands on his mug of tea and sneaking looks at Kamukura, who today was bundled up in a very fluffy, very long pink dressing gown, kneeling in front of the TV with an adorable frown on his face, and Hinata, who looked relaxed as he ever had, huddled under two blankets and holding onto a hot water bottle. 

Komaeda drummed his fingers against the arm of the couch he was currently curled up in. There seemed to be an underlying tension in Kamukura’s frown today, and Hinata was gripping onto his mug a little  _ too  _ tightly. They were probably suffering from cabin fever- not like either of them left the house often, but it was another thing entirely to not be able to leave at all. Hinata even looked uncharacteristically pale, like all the blood had been leached out-

_ Oh. _

Komaeda counted the days since he’d been down to the secret room. If his estimate of two week’s supply was correct, Hinata and Kamukura had run out of blood… yesterday morning. 

He rose from his couch with a sudden urgency. First he had to confirm his theory. 

On the pretext of going to the bathroom, he left. 

And found the cold storage completely empty. Not even a lone blood bag. 

There was no way a delivery truck could get to them in the next few days, probably. He had to make a decision.

Komaeda returned to the living room. Hinata and Kamukura must have detected the change is his demeanor, because they both looked at him with eerily similar querical looks on their faces. 

He remained standing in the doorway, hesitant. He couldn’t take back these words after he said them. He was putting everything at risk- he didn’t want to lose this quasi-friendship he’d managed to build. As selfish as it was, he imagined sitting down and pretending as though nothing had happened, and hoping the snow cleared up on its own. He took a deep breath, steadied himself with his hand on the doorway. 

Kamukura’s expression held an expectation, like he knew what Komaeda was about to say. Not for the first time, Komaeda wondered if he really did. 

“So you guys are out of blood?” He blurted out. 

Stunned silence followed his words. Komaeda wished that he wasn’t so unbearably awkward.

Hinata sputtered. “Blood? What blood? The blood in our bodies? Why- Why would we need blood?”

Kamukura almost looked like he was amused at Hinata’s piss-poor attempt to deny the truth. Hinata leveled a glare at him before he returned his eyes to Komaeda.

“I know the truth.” Komaeda cleared his throat. “I’ve known for a few weeks.” 

Hinata scoffed. “What truth? You think we’re drinking blood? You think we’re vampires-”

“You said it, not me.”

Hinata looked at Kamukura helplessly. 

Komaeda continued, nervousness lighting his cheeks ablaze. “You don’t even have reflections! And you never eat, and you’re always cold, and- and I found the cold storage.”

Hinata couldn’t have looked more shocked if Komaeda had pantsed him in a busy street in the middle of the day. A smile tugged at Kamukura’s lips, like he’d been waiting for this. Maybe he had. 

SIlence filled the room again. Komaeda could feel Kamukura’s expectant eyes on him. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. 

“And there’s no way we can get you any other source of blood for probably the next few days, even longer at worst. So. You should both.” He inhaled sharply.  _ Just say it, hopeless idiot!  _ “You should both drink from me.”

“Wait- wait a minute,” Hinata sputtered. “The t-shirt- that shirt- you- you totally-”

Komaeda shrugged. He still stood by the fact that it had been funny.

Kamukura broke the silence that followed. “What reason do you have to offer? You must know you are putting your life at risk right now.”

“I want to help.” The half-lie felt sticky in his throat, and he coughed. 

“There’s nothing that we could do to repay you,” Hinata said. 

Komaeda shrugged again, helplessly. “That’s okay.” 

“No, you don’t understand,” a note of frustration edged through Hinata’s voice. “What you’re offering is- it’s life. It’s a gift. It shouldn’t be wasted just because we’re snowed in a for a few days-”

“Hinata-kun. Please.” 

Perhaps it was the way he said it, so plaintively, that made Hinata fall silent. 

“We’ll do it,” Kamukura said. “On one condition.” He fixed Komaeda with a flat stare. “Tell us why you’re offering. Anyone else would have run as soon as they knew.”

Komaeda’s knees were weak. He couldn’t lie. Not when those dark eyes pinned him in place. He could no longer distract from the truth that had lay sleeping inside him since he’d arrived at this place, slowly burning holes in his heart. 

“I- I’ve never had friends, before.” Komaeda admitted. “I’ve never felt close to anyone until I started working here. It’s selfish. I’m offering because I want to be closer to you.” 

Hinata exhaled. His eyes looked unbearably soft. A sharp contrast to his usual tense demeanor. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Komaeda echoed. He hadn’t expected this. He had expected to maybe be murdered for knowing their secret, or attacked and drained. He would have been okay with whatever they had chosen to do to him. But the last thing he had expected was to be extended kindness. 

“Okay.” Kamukura said. 

Komaeda took in a deep breath. “Okay, so how do we..?” He gestured haplessly. 

Hinata patted the couch next to him. “Come over here.”

Komaeda sat next to Hinata, facing him. “Should I..?” He pulled at the neck of his shirt. “Uh. I don’t want to get blood on it.”

“Sure.”

Komaeda slowly pulled off his shirt, hesitant. He felt exposed. His ribs were thrown into sharp relief under the bright lights of the living room. Scars, both fresh and old, lined his arms and shoulders, curved around his hips and crawled onto his stomach. Hinata ran his hands along Komaeda’s shoulders, his touch gentle. 

Hinata lowered his head to Komaeda’s neck. He felt dizzy from the touch, from Hinata holding him with such care, like he might break at any second. Like he was something precious. Nobody had ever held Komaeda like that. One of Hinata’s hands came to rest at the other side of his neck. His breath tickled the crook of Komaeda’s neck. His fangs brushed against his skin, and drew a shiver from him. And then Hinata’s fangs punctured his neck.

Hinata’s hands were suddenly rough against him, pulling, keeping his neck exposed and vulnerable. It felt like fire burning at his throat. 

Komaeda had wrapped his arms around Hinata without thinking, and he let out an embarrassing  _ moan.  _ He could feel Hinata’s lips sucking at his neck, bruisingly hard. His head was swimming with intense pain, but he really didn’t mind. It felt… real. 

“Stop.” Kamukura’s voice resounded through the room. His hand rested on Hinata’s shoulder. Hinata blinked and pulled and pulled away, his lips stained with red. Blood spilled down Komaeda’s collarbone, pooling in his clavicle. Hinata tried to brush it away with his thumb, but it just smeared over Komaeda’s skin.

Kamukura took Hinata’s place on the couch. Komaeda leaned into him, his mind still blurred from the agonising pleasure of Hinata’s bite. Hinata settled in behind Komaeda, so they were all sitting on the roomy couch. Hinata’s hands rested on Komaeda’s waist. Kamukura  _ licked  _ the wound Hinata left, gently agitating it. He was completely controlled, one hand in Komaeda’s hair, keeping his head tilted. Komaeda dimly realised he was panting, soft little breaths, and half hard in his pants. The realisation didn’t panic him as much as it should have- it felt too far away. The only things that were real and close were Hinata’s hands around his waist and Kamukura’s mouth sucking against the wound on his neck. Komaeda was melting against them both, liquid with pleasure and warmth. There was nothing except Hinata and Kamukura and Komaeda on fire between them, until blackness overcame him. 

When Komaeda woke up, he didn’t recognise where he was. A dark room, sunlight pressed against the curtains. A cool body on either side. A dull, throbbing ache in the place his neck met his shoulder. He reached up to touch his neck. A bandage was wrapped around the wound, the fabric scratchy against his fingertips. He tried to sit up, but an arm from his left- Kamukura’s, he recognised- latched around him. Hinata grumbled in his sleep, rolling around to tuck Komaeda under his chin. Komaeda was acutely aware that he was still shirtless, in only the flannel pants he’d been wearing this morning. But pressed against the skin of the vampires next to him, both of them clinging to him in their sleep, he felt something odd press against the inside of his chest. Safety. He slowly relaxed into their embrace and let himself surrender to sleep. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> komaeda has a hard time accepting friendship. also known as, i want kamukura to cook me breakfast so i wrote this chapter. sorry for the late update, i've been going thru it. hopefully the next chapter is written in a more timely manner! also, i'm not super good at dialogue, so any suggestions would be hugely appreciated. thanks for reading x

Komaeda woke up sandwiched between Hinata and Kamukura. The blackout curtains were pulled, so Komaeda had no idea what the time was. His head was nestled between Kamukura's shoulder blades, and he was tucked under Hinata's chin, with an arm stretching over both of them. 

Would they wake if he left?  _ Should  _ he leave? What was the protocol for waking up in your employers' bed? 

He carefully wiggled. No reaction from either of them. He lifted up Hinata's arm and ducked under it, carefully disentangling himself from the cool limbs and blankets. 

It was definitely a surreal experience to wake up in the bed he made so frequently. 

Hinata instinctively moved into the gap Komaeda left, wrapping his arm around Kamukura. They didn't look dead. They looked alive, and peacefully asleep. Maybe they were having good dreams. 

Komaeda felt like an intruder in this peaceful scene, like he was in someone's bedroom watching them sleep. He could've slapped himself. He had no right to be here and no right to enjoy sleeping in that bed. They were being responsible and keeping an eye on him after major blood loss, and he was taking advantage of their kindness. He gave himself two guilty seconds to try and commit the feeling to memory. The warmth. The safety. A strong heartbeat on either side of him. The sense of serenity he felt upon first waking. 

He wished he could bottle up this feeling to save it for later. The memory would have to suffice. 

Komaeda exhaled softly and left, closing the door as quietly as he could behind him. His traitorous footsteps made too much noise on the hardwood floors. He took extra care to soften his footfalls as he hurried back to his room, his heart aching. He didn't have the right to want anything from them. 

A hallway clock informed him it was 2am. His body clock was severely messed up from his erratic sleep schedule.

He shucked his flannel pants and tucked himself into his cold, neatly made bed. The pants lay abandoned on the floor. Komaeda didn't have the willpower to fold them. The white sheets had never felt so empty or uninviting. He took deep breaths, trying to settle his racing heart. 

He tried to forcibly relax his body.  _ Think of a safe place. _ Normally he pictured an island beach, isolated, empty, clean of litter, the sun beating down and the water glittering. But tonight he couldn't imagine the scent of the sea. He couldn't hear the ocean softly rushing up to meet the shore. All he could see was the back of his eyelids. 

It was useless. Komaeda rolled over and hugged his pillow, feeling pathetic. 

He missed human touch. Or vampire touch. Semantics. The cold, unfeeling truth was that nobody had ever held him like that before. Nobody had ever looked at him like they wanted him. Even if they only wanted his blood, he was so grateful for the kindness and the contact that he'd gladly let them feed off him whenever they pleased. Even if it made him feel pathetic. 

He ruminated on those thoughts until he fell back into an empty sleep.

  
  


The next morning as he was approaching the kitchen, Komaeda could smell breakfast.  _ Why? Vampires don’t need to eat, do they?  _ He took a seat at the bar and greeted his- employers? Friends?

“Good morning, Kamukura-kun, Hinata-kun!” He chirped.

Kamukura was at the stove frying eggs, and acknowledged him with a quick wave. Hinata was sat next to him at the bar, head flopped into his arms, and made a typical morning-grunt-I-don’t-want-to-be-awake noise. 

“Isn’t it late for you?” Komaeda asked. “You don’t need to go to the trouble of eating breakfast with me, especially if it interrupts your sleep.” 

Kamukura responded by sliding a plate full of eggs and toast towards him. They looked delicious, and Komaeda became acutely aware of his empty stomach. 

_ Wait.  _ “Are these… are these for me?”

Kamukura actually rolled his eyes, and in that moment he looked eerily like Hinata. “Vampires don’t eat real food. Cooking and eating together is a household bonding activity.”

Hinata raised his head off his arms, his hair tousled. Komaeda had to admit his severe bed-head was  _ adorable _ . “It’s good practice to take care of your humans,” he explained, voice rough with sleep. 

_ Ah.  _ Of course, it made sense to feed their food source. 

Hinata continued, his voice breaking into his thoughts. “I was actually wondering something…”

Komaeda tensed. Should he not have left last night? Had he broken some unspoken vampiric social rule? 

“...do you have like. Any, uh, questions? About the vampire thing?” 

_ Oh. _ Komaeda tried not to look visibly relieved. He took a big bite of his eggs to give him a few moments to think. What was something he could ask that wasn’t too intrusive..? The truth was, he was burning with curiosity. 

“How often do you want, uh…” he gestured to his neck. “This.”

It’s Hinata’s turn to furrow his brow. “How often are you okay with it?”

Komaeda shrugged. “How often is it normal for…” he hesitated, debating the best way to phrase it, “...people in my position to. Do this?”

Kamukura finished washing the frying pan and carefully dried his hands. He took a seat next to Hinata at the bar. “Usually human companions are fed from up to three times a week. But seeing as there’s two of us, we’d have to be more careful.”

Komaeda blinked. “Is that what those in my position are usually called? Companions?”

It’s Izurus’s turn to hesitate, now. Great. He’d managed to make both of them uncomfortable in one conversation. “It depends on the level of their attachment to the vampire. Among our kind, we refer to them by a number of names. But there’s a few select humans in committed relationships with vampires who we refer to as bonded.”

“Bonded?” Komaeda picked at his eggs. They really were delicious, he just had bigger fish to fry at the moment. 

“It’s sort of like vampire-human marriage,” Hinata said, looking wistfully at Komaeda’s rapidly disappearing eggs. It probably got boring drinking blood all the time. 

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Kamukura amended. “Bonded humans and vampires gain certain benefits.”

Komaeda looked at him expectantly, but Kamukura didn’t continue.

Instead, Komaeda voiced his next question. “Will the people attending the dinner party also be vampires? Or werewolves?” He couldn’t keep excitement from tinting his voice. “Fey?” He shovelled another mouthful of eggs in. 

“I’m afraid not.” Was that the hint of a smile on Kamukura’s face? “It’s just vampires. A few humans will be attending, of course. Unfortunately, we’re the only supernatural creatures, unless the others are extremely adept at hiding.” 

Komaeda pouted. 

“Are you concerned for your safety around so many of us?” Hinata raised his gaze from Komaeda’s eggs to his face. 

“Huh?” Komaeda blinked. 

“Of course not,” Hinata scoffed. “You should work on your self preservation skills… most people would have run the moment they even sensed something off.”

Komaeda smiled serenely. “I haven’t been hurt yet, have I? And Kamukura-kun was even kind enough to make me breakfast.” He took one last bite. He hadn’t eaten a proper meal in more days than he was willing to admit.

“It’s polite to replace what you’ve taken,” Hinata sounded like he was reciting something he’d been told many times. “Anyway, you need the protein. You’re iron deficient.”

Komaeda’s eyes lit up. “You could tell that just from tasting my blood? Vampires really are amazing!”

“Anyone could tell that from looking in your kitchen cupboard,” Hinata pointed out. “Do you eat anything aside from tea and instant ramen?”

“I’m rather a disaster in the kitchen,” Komaeda said. He’d set more fires than he cared to admit. 

“It’s only right we take care of you,” Kamukura said. “Those who choose willingly to help us are rare.” 

“Anyone could do what I’m doing,” Komaeda pointed out. 

Hinata rolled his eyes. Komaeda had earned more eye rolls from him than any other person he knew in the span of just a few weeks. Not that it was a long list. “You really underestimate how weird it is that you’re okay with this.”

“I mean, I was expecting you’d kill me. Being cooked eggs isn’t a bad tradeoff.” 

“If you were expecting us to kill you, why did you stay?” Hinata frowned. 

Komaeda shrugged. “I wanted to be helpful in some way. It was the least I could do.”

Hinata and Kamukura exchanged glances. 

“You’re a huge help already,” Hinata said. “This place looked like a wreck before you got here. You don’t need to feel like you owe us anything. If you don’t want this, all you have to do is say-”

Komaeda went pale. “That’s not the case at all-”

Hinata pressed on. “What do you gain from this, then? There has to be something.”

Komaeda could feel Kamukura’s eyes boring holes into him. He ducked his head, but there was no way he could talk his way out of admitting that he wanted this. 

“Just being near people and being needed is all I want,” he tried for a half truth. “I just… I liked…” His next words were a mumble. 

“Pardon?” Kamukura tilted his head. 

Komaeda let out an aggravated sigh. “I liked being close to you both.” He couldn’t bring himself to look up. It sounded so silly when he phrased it like that- risking his life for a simple chance to be close to someone. 

“Don’t you have anyone outside of work?” Surprise made Hinata’s words more blunt than he perhaps meant them to be. 

Komaeda shook his head. He wasn’t ready to offer an explanation as to why he didn’t have anyone, yet.

He looked up and cleared his throat, pasting an empty smile on. “Perhaps I’ll tell you soon. But that’s… that’s the only reason why.” He stood, the chair grating along the floor awfully loud in the quiet. 

“Thank you for the meal,” he said, and left. Hinata and Kamukura watched him leave, Hinata’s brow furrowed, Kamukura’s eyes narrowed. 

  
  



End file.
